Going On Seventeen: The Diary of Ginny Weasley
by squibbles
Summary: Ginny records her thoughts and experiences during her sixth year at Hogwarts. Her two crushes are total opposites and mortal enemies. She discovers who in her life is truly important, and learns the hard way that people aren't always what they seem.
1. Chapter One: Nothing More

_**August 29,1997 – 2:10am – My Bedroom.**_

Can't sleep, so I decided I would start writing in this journal. Haven't used a journal since first year, and well, that resulted in quite the fiasco. I still have a bit of a phobia; I'm half-expecting to see these words dribble through the page and some mystery person's response to appear. But my dear brother Charlie sent this as a birthday gift, so I imagine it's safe.

I have been sixteen since August 11th. I woke up that morning at around ten and wandered downstairs for a bite to eat, and much to my surprise, I was greeted with a thundering "HAPPY BIRTHDAY, GINNY!"

It was so completely unexpected that I was literally blown backwards. Just my luck that I slipped on the cat, careened backwards into a bookcase and fell abruptly on my rear in front of my whole family and many of my friends. And Harry. Merlin, in front of Harry Potter. I've always fancied him just a bit. He had been staying with us in the Burrow for the last month of the summer holiday, and I'd gotten to know him better. I like to think that we're mates now. But that certainly wasn't enough to keep me from utter embarrassment over my blundering entrance. I'm positive my face was a few shades darker than a ripe tomato.

It was Harry and Luna that helped me to my feet. I laughed nervously and thanked them.

The rest of the day was pleasant enough. No more minor catastrophies, to my relief. A bunch of us played Quidditch for most of the afternoon. Me, my brothers, Harry, and Angelina Johnson, Fred's girlfriend.

We were all sweaty and starving by suppertime. The lot of us ate outside since it was so warm. Received several nice gifts: new clothes, loads of sweets, new books, and of course, this journal.

As it got darker, we played several rounds of Exploding Snap by lantern-light. The sun was sinking and the stars emerged, set like diamonds in the navy velvet of the night sky.

I was beginning to feel drowsy when George announced that he and Fred had one last surprise.

Within minutes, the still air was pierced by the whistles and bangs of a spectacular fireworks display. My brothers' Wildfire Whiz-Bangs, no doubt. I was lying on the grass beside Harry, watching yellow and blue dragons slither across the sky between crackling sparks of all colors and excited, red butterflies doing loop-de-loops.

I heard Harry whispering things like "Brilliant" and "Wicked" every so often. I glanced at him; he was staring intently at the attraction above us, wide-eyed and beaming, his thin lips slightly parted. It was adorable how entranced he was. The colors of the great light show were reflected in the round panes of his glasses. Even in the near-darkness, I could see the intense green of his eyes shining with excitement like that of an eager child.

But he is not a child.

He's a young man of seventeen. I am only just sixteen, and will forever be his "best mate's little sister".

I don't really mind. We've gotten to know each other a little better this summer, and for that I am grateful. My crush has never been more than admiration from afar. Admiration of his courage; admiration of the way he handles his hardships, which are by no means few and far between.

I'm younger than he is. I'm the Little Sister. That's how it is, and I can't change it. So therefore, I have no intention of pursuing Harry, no intention of chasing after a tiny crush that will probably fizzle out in due time.

It's just... I've known him for so long. He's accomplished astounding things, feats I truly look up to him for. And I'm glad we've become friends. Even if we're not close friends, there's something about the little that we have that intrigues me. I want more. I'd like to discover who he really is.

But what are we now? We're friends. Mates. That's all we are, nothing more.

Getting sleepy now. Cannot wait to return to Hogwarts in a few days.

Until next time,  
Ginny

/

_**September 7th – 9:25pm – Gryffindor Common Room.**_

I've safety arrived at Hogwarts and have survived my first week of classes.

The train ride was eventful. That is, as far as train rides go.

Harry, Luna, Neville and I found a compartment together. Ron and Hermione had to sit with the other Prefects. Luna and I shared one side of the compartment and Harry and Neville were across from us. Neville was tending to a potted plant with little green hands protruding from the wriggling stalk. Neville's good with plants; I hear Herbology is his best subject.

Harry and I had a short conversation. It went something like this.

"Think we can nab the Quidditch Cup again this year, Ginny?" he asked.

I looked up from _The Daily Prophet. _Harry was looking me square in the face, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. I returned his gaze for a moment, but could not keep it. He has the kind of stare that penetrates deeply; I can never meet him eye to eye for a prolonged amount of time. Sounds ridiculous, but I feel like he's reading my mind. I think, 'If I look back at him for too long, I'll be left with a flaming hole in my forehead.'

"Absolutely, as long as you're our Seeker," I replied, pretending to survey something enthralling outside the window.

I snuck a peek at his face. Again, with the stare. It wasn't even really a stare, because it was perfectly polite. It wasn't like he was _trying_ to harass me with his eyes. He can't help it that he has the brightest, most striking, positively fascinating but somewhat scary gaze in all of Britain.

"Ah, the House Team would be nothing without your Chasing skills."

I blushed profusely at this compliment.

"Erm, I-I, ah... Thanks, Harry."

At that moment, the compartment door slid open. It was none other than Draco Malfoy. Except he looked different. Crabbe and Goyle, his two troll-like lapdogs, were nowhere in sight.

"What do you want?" Harry and Luna barked simultaneously.

"Don't get all huffy now. Potter, Luna."

Draco nodded to each of them as he said their names.

"No need to cause trouble. I'm only looking for _The Daily Prophet._"

I cleared my throat rather passively and pulled out my copy of the Wizarding newspaper.

"Here," I said meekly, offering Draco the paper without really looking at him.

I've never quite known what to make of Draco. Ron and Harry despise him, and I'm sure they have their reasons, but the two don't often talk about it. Not in front of me, at least. I've had a few encounters with him, none entirely pleasant, but my feelings toward him are far from hatred.

He walks around with that half-sneer, half-smile and gives off this vibe of complete confidence. Cockiness. At the same time, when I look at him, I wonder, "What's he hiding?"

There was a brief silence followed by a moment of extreme discomfort when I realized all four of them were regarding me with interest.

I glimpsed at Harry, who wore a curious expression I could not decipher, and then peered up at Draco.

The corners of his mouth curved up slightly as he reached for the newspaper. He had grown taller since last year, standing at perhaps six feet. He rested casually against the open compartment door, leaning on it with his forearm.

My eyes flicked to his hand as he took the paper from me and placed it smoothly into the breast pocket of his dark green robe. It was large and lined with thick veins just beneath the skin that traveled over his knuckles, across the back of his hand and disappeared into his sleeve like a cluster of rivers flowing toward a sea that existed farther up his arm. Long fingers. Strong hands.

I studied his face once more and noticed his sharp, prominent jawline and defined cheekbones. These angular lines severely contrasted Harry's round face and soft features.

Draco had grown out his hair over the summer. It was shoulder-length and still a remarkable white-blonde that had always been noticeable in a crowd.

And then, his eyes.

I must have an eye fetish or something.

They reminded me of a storm. Grey, like a thundercloud. I could almost feel the electricity that seemed to pulse through them. The grey was streaked with tiny spikes of light blue like a clear sky fighting to remain seen.

His irises were stunning like Harry's, but in a different way. I was not afraid to look fixedly back at him. We bore into each other, a silent contest of who avert their stare first. It lasted perhaps three or four seconds, but time was slowed, and it felt like an eternity.

I lost our secret competition.

His tiny smile grew at this.

"Thanks, Ginny."

And then he was gone.

Until next time,  
Ginny


	2. Chapter Two: A Second Encounter

Hey everybody! This is the second chapter of my first fic posted on this site. Please R/R, I love feedback and constructive criticism.

Jade Stellar – Thanks for your review! I appreciate your interest in the story.

Anyway, here's chapter two. Enjoy!

/

**_September 13th – 11:45am – Transfiguration._**

Spoke with Draco again yesterday. Although, the first time barely qualifies as conversing, considering neither of us said more than three words to each other.

I was hunched over _Quidditch Through the Ages_ at a deserted table in the back of the library at around 9:30, trying to keep myself awake until Astronomy at 11. I was failing, however, as my eyelids felt like they were connected to large lead weights. I'd been up till almost three the night before finishing one of Snape's bogus essays, and my body was drained of all energy from Quidditch practice.

My mind was drifting. 'Wouldn't it be fantastic if I played Quidditch on a professional team?' I thought, a dopey, sleep-deprived smile spreading across my face. I felt myself in the air, on my broom, soaring through the crystal clear sky, wind roaring past me as I pick up speed, hair whipping in my face. Catching the Quaffle! Going for goal...

A silky voice snapped me back to reality.

"Is this seat taken?"

I jerked my head up in surprise to face Draco directly for the first time since the train ride. Those thunderstorm eyes...

"Oh! Erm, yes—I mean, n-no. Nobody's sitting here."

I tried to smile, but I think my face just twitched unattractively.

Draco sat down in the chair next to me and opened some notes on human transfiguration.

"Didn't mean to startle you," he drawled, flashing me a mischievous smirk.

Oh man, is he _cute._

I regained my composure. Placing my elbow on the table, I tilted my head slightly and rested it on my palm, my face toward his.

"No worries. It's good to see you," I replied casually.

"Yeah," he agreed, an absent-minded expression on his face. Our eyes locked for a moment; I, once again, was the one who looked away. A twinge of doubt presented itself timidly in the back of my mind. I thought nothing of it.

I resumed reading my book, and he returned his focus to his notes. We sat in silence for a good thirty minutes until Draco pushed back his seat and stood up. He packed his notes up slowly, deliberately, and re-situated his chair back to its proper place halfway under the table.

"Must be off now, Prefect duties," he explained.

I only nodded, as I was rather lost for words.

"See you around, Ginny."

He turned on his heel and sauntered briskly toward the library doors. Then, he was out of sight.

Got to go, McGonagall's giving me the evil eye.

Write later,  
Ginny

/

_**Same Day – 5:15pm – Library.**_

Anyway, where did I leave off?

I struggled to stay awake during Astronomy, then conked out as soon as I got back to the dormitory. My last thoughts were of Draco.

This morning, Harry caught me by the arm as I was walking down to breakfast. He pulled me to the side of the hallway.

"Why were you sitting with Malfoy last night in the library?" he asked.

It sounded like there was a touch of apprehension in his voice. I probably imagined it. Besides, I was taken aback at how blunt the question was.

"Well, I don't know, he sat down next to me and—"

"Stay away from him, Ginny."

Who did he think he was? Ordering me around like that. I realized he was still holding my arm. I yanked it angrily from his clutches.

"What?" I asked, even though I'd heard him perfectly well.

"You heard me. I'm serious, he's bad news."

"I can make my own damn choices, Harry," I snapped, my eyes narrowed. It came out louder than I intended, and a few first years looked over their shoulders at us.

Harry appeared a bit stunned at my words, but he quickly regained his urgent expression and glowered down at me.

"You don't know what he can be like. Please, Ginny—"

I'd heard enough. I shoved past him and walked hurriedly down the hall, fuming. I took a piece of toast from the Dining Hall and brought it back up to the dormitory, too angry to stay and have to look at Harry, who took a seat next to Ron. I snuck a peek at Draco as I left; he was laughing with Pansy Parkinson (and I admit it, I was jealous).

Okay, something just dawned on me. I was practically the only person in the library that night, besides, obviously, Madam Pince. And Harry, who I suppose was spying on me for some stupid reason. There were plenty of open tables. Why did Draco sit with me?

Not like I'm complaining.

Must go, it's time for supper.

Until next time,  
Ginny


	3. Chapter Three: Skipping Stones

Here's the next part! I'm sorry if there are inconsistancies about the lake by the school. I'm not quite sure where it's located.

Enjoy!

/

**_September 17th – 10:45pm – Gryffindor Common Room._**

Harry. Such a nice bloke. I'm back to fancying him a bit. Here's what happened.

We apologized to each other today. We hadn't spoken all week. I was angry, so angry, at first. But I started to understand that Harry's only looking out for me. I believe he's wrong about Draco, yet I realize that I should appreciate his concern.

I was heading toward the library from History of Magic after the bell sounded for the last class of the day when I saw Harry.

"Harry!" I called out as I elbowed through the growing mob of students. I arrived at his side a tad winded from my efforts.

"Going to the common room?" he asked blankly.

"Erm, yeah," I lied. I needed a reason to talk to him, to apologize.

We walked in silence for several paces, then started talking at the same time.

"Listen, Harry—"  
"Ginny, I—"

"Sorry, what were you—"  
"Oh no, you go ahead—"

Silence again.

"Harry," I began, taking a deep breath. "I'm sorry I, um, last week. I'm sorry I kind of bit your head off. About—about Draco. You were only—"

"Don't worry about it," he interrupted mildly, shrugging. "I'm sorry too. You had good reason to be mad. You've the right to make your own choices."

We said nothing more until we'd reached the entrance to the common room, each of us forgiving the other without words.

Harry stopped me at the portrait of the Fat Lady.

"Ginny?"

He was rubbing the back of his neck with his fingertips, sort of talking into my left shoulder.

"Erm, d'you want to go for a walk around the grounds with me? I mean, not _with _me, but, ah, I don't know—"

"Sure," I answered. "Ah, give me two minutes?"

Harry let out a long breath, almost like he was relieved. Probably just glad that we were speaking to each other again, just as I was.

"Oh, yeah, of course."

We turned to the Fat Lady, and I said the password ("flobberworm"). The portrait swung open, and we climbed through the circular entrance. I jogged up the stairs to the girls' dormitory to drop my books off.

After changing into jeans and white trainers, I surveyed myself in the mirror. I took my hair down from the loose ponytail it was in; my hair fell slightly below my shoulders. I put it up again. And then I took it down. I scrunched the curly ends in my palms. I considered putting on a bit of makeup, but then decided against it.

I don't know why I was being so fussy about my appearance.

He was waiting for me when I got back to the common room, and we left together.

And then, we just talked. Walked around the grounds and talked. About Quidditch, his mates, the upcoming excursion to Hogsmeade. He had great patience with me when I spoke about school troubles. I've been having difficulties keeping my grades up; It's just so hard to find time for everything. For some reason, Harry was incredibly easy to talk to; my pent-up frustration all spilled out. I probably rambled and complained longer than most would tolerate, but Harry never stopped me. Not once. He's a brilliant listener.

Well, his turn to talk came.

We had wandered over to the lake. Harry picked up a flat stone and threw it with a masterful flick of his wrist. It skipped four times across the surface of the water before sinking, the image of the reflected sky distorting from the ripples.

He kept doing this, seemingly without even thinking about it. I could tell his mind was elsewhere; he was staring thoughtfully across the lake at a small clearing opposite us. It was the first time in two hours that there was silence between us, but it was not at all awkward. We simply stood and surveyed the picturesque scene, the rippling lake, the thick forest across it, the orange sun that had slid considerably lower in the sky since we'd begun our walk.

I suddenly felt a pang of guilt for talking his ear off about my school problems. Harry's been through so much. He's lost people he loved, he witnessed a fellow student's death. For God's sake, he killed a basilisk as a twelve-year-old!

I hung my head and scowled down at my shoes. Honestly, the petty problems I have that I seem to think people want to hear.

'What's said is said,' I thought, in an attempt to shake my guilty conscience.

I noticed a smooth, oval-shaped rock next to my foot. I picked it up and tried to mimic Harry's perfect flick-of-the-wrist form. Instead, my whole arm had a spasm and the oblong stone flew from my hand and fell to the water with an ungraceful 'SPLUNK'.

The sound snapped Harry out of his trance. He looked my way, slightly confused at first, then broke into a toothy smile. His eyes didn't match his enthusiastic grin, however. Their emerald color seemed less vivid. He looked weary.

I let out a soft, sheepish chuckle then stepped closer to him and sat on the cool grass. Harry followed suit and plopped down beside me with a great, tired sigh.

I had to find out what he was thinking about. It was the least I could do after talking about myself for so long. Plus, I was genuinely interested.

"Something wrong, Harry?"

He didn't respond immediately, but I knew he'd heard me. I could feel his mind working as he plucked individual blades of grass from the damp ground, deciding whether to tell me or not, what to say and how to say it.

"I was thinking back to third year. This lake... it always makes me... reminisce. About third year," he answered carefully, taking his time to find the right words.

"Why third year?" I inquired.

He drew in a long breath, as if filling himself with assurance.

"It was the year with the dementors. Horrible things, they are. You probably remember, they were standing guard at the school. Searching for Snuffles after he escaped from Azkaban." He paused. "I mean—Sirius. Sirius Black."

Harry choked up as he said Sirius's name and turned his face away. After a moment, he cleared his throat and continued.

"Sirius and I were here... just here, lying on the ground. Dementors... everywhere. They were swarming around us, heartless, disgusting beasts in those black cloaks, swirling in the air, surrounding us."

I didn't quite understand but refrained from asking questions.

"And then, they moved closer. I could feel their cold breath... they were so close. But just then, this light. This huge light was everywhere, coming from the opposite bank, right over there."

He pointed to the small clearing across the lake.

"A Patronus. A galloping stag made the dementors vanish. My Patronus," he said, his voice barely audible. "Don't ask me how I was on both sides of the lake at the same time, it's a long and complicated story," he added, noticing my bewildered expression.

"I thought it was... this is crazy. But I thought it was my—my father on that bank. Casting that Patronus. I... I wanted..." he trailed off into uncertainty.

I placed my hand lightly on his shoulder.

"Go on, you can tell me," I urged him quietly.

He glanced at me, his sad eyes meeting mine for a split second.

"I wanted so bad for it to be my father."

I desperately searched my vocabulary for comforting words.

Yet, I felt he was done with the subject that seemed to pain him so. I couldn't bring myself to ask questions. And the only consolatory remarks I could think of were so cliché, reminding me of phrases from sappy movies; words that he's probably heard hundreds of times from people who feel they need to speak when in actuality, silence can say far more.

I can't imagine what it would be like to grow up without parents. An immense wave of pity for Harry rushed over me.

I said nothing. My hand still rested on his shoulder. I massaged it delicately in an effort to communicate that he was not alone, that I was there, willing to listen if he needed me to.

Harry spotted another sleek, elliptical rock on the ground by his foot and snatched it up. He tossed it to the lake, again with his professional-looking forehand throw, and it skipped on the water five times before sinking.

"How do you do that?" I demanded, giggling a bit despite myself.

He gathered a few more stones and stood up. I stood up as well.

"Show me how you do it," he responded, handing me a rock. His eyes had regained their usual dazzling brightness.

I flung the stone clumsily and it landed with another wet "SPLUNK".

"You _amateur_," Harry teased.

"Oh, shut up," I retorted, shoving him playfully.

"Here, let me help you," he laughed.

He placed another flat rock in my right hand and closed my fingers around it. He situated himself behind me and took my right hand in his. His free hand rested subtly on my waist.

"Now Ginny, it's all in the wrist."

I could feel his breath on the back of my head as he spoke.

"Bring your wrist up, kind of at an angle. Perfect. Now we'll count to three. Bring your hand forward and back with each count, with kind of a flicking motion. On three, release it."

He was so close I could feel his chin in my hair as I nodded.

"One... two... three!"

We let go together and watched the rock soar. It hit the water, skipped once, then landed and sunk.

He stepped away as I turned around.

"Better, much better," he declared, his hands on his hips.

So we practiced for, I don't know how long, laughing and teasing each other. Before we knew it, it was halfway through suppertime. We sprinted up to the castle and into the Dining Hall, breathless and doubled over with laughter.

HP & GW = ??

Until next time,  
Ginny


	4. Chapter Four: An Unexpected Snog

Here's the next part! It kind of turns the tables... keeps the reader guessing! heheehe.

Freya4 - Thanks for catching that mistake about Harry's Patronus. I suppose I was under the impression that it was a unicorn because of James Potter's Animagus form. But I checked the book, and you're absolutely right; the correction has been made! :)

/

**_September 28th – 2:10pm – Gryffindor Tower, Girl's Dormitory._**

Merlin's beard.

I've officially snogged Draco Malfoy.

I could tell he'd taken an interest in me, starting with the whole library encounter. But he'd been especially obvious during the past few days.

On Thursday, I was hauling the case containing the Quidditch balls to the equipment shed after practice. Ron, being the responsible Captain and thoughtful brother that he is, left it for me to put away. It didn't help that I was in a rather crummy mood as it was. Practice hadn't been the best; we were working on penalties and I kept missing the hoops. Also, I was kicking myself for not bringing my wand.

"Could use bloody _Wingardium Leviosa_ about now," I muttered bitterly to myself.

I heard shrill laughter to my right. It was a group of Slytherins. Draco was among them. Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bullstrode were giggling fervently at one of his jokes. Then I heard him speak.

"Excuse me for a moment."

He began swaggering toward me. I dragged the case a few more meters, then dropped it heavily, my arms burning. By then, Draco was beside me, wearing a manly smirk.

"Allow me," he offered, nodding toward the case as he rolled up his sleeves.

He grasped both handles of the case, lifted it with ease, carried it to the equipment shed and came out brushing his hands together in a cocky fashion. I couldn't help but smile as he ambled back over.

"Cheers," I said, inadvertently batting my eyelashes.

"Not a problem. You take care now, Ginny."

He winked as he turned back to his friends. My stomach flip-flopped like a fish out of water. My knees wobbled and I swayed precariously. Pansy Parkinson was glaring like she would strangle me if I were closer.

This combination of feelings did not make me feel any worse; quite the contrary, in fact. I thrust my chin out and smiled smugly as I made my way to the changing rooms.

On Friday, Draco was just plain following me around. He chatted me up on the way out of the Dining Hall after breakfast. Harry, Ron and Hermione were walking behind us. I could feel them staring; three pairs of eyes drilling into the back of my head. But I didn't turn around, and they didn't say a word.

My first class was Double Potions with the Ravenclaws. I sat next to Luna, who wasted no time bombarding me with questions about Draco, as she had noticed that he walked me to class. I told her that he's just an acquaintance. She squinted at me in an observing manner, trying to read my expression. I kept my face as blank as possible. Judging from her reaction to Draco's appearance on the train ("What do you want!?"), she's not exactly fond of him. I couldn't let on that I liked him as a bit more than a friend.

Luna seemed satisfied with my innocent demeanor.

I left Potions in a foul mood. Snape docked ten points from Gryffindor because I asked what the due date was for his most recently assigned essay. He called me a "typical vacant-headed Weasley who never pays attention", claiming that he had already announced the due date. I had barely begun saying "That's so unfair!" when he took another ten points for my "blatant impertinence".

I left class in a huff as soon as the bell rang, muttering curses under my breath.

And there he was, waiting for me outside the door.

"Draco!" I broke into a smile.

"Hey you," he drawled, smirking as usual. His hair was tied back in a slick ponytail. A stray lock dangled down to the bridge of his nose. He tucked it behind his ear, but it flopped stubbornly back into position.

We strolled shoulder-to-shoulder all the way to Transfiguration.

And he was waiting for me again after class.

This continued all throughout Friday. Sounds cheesy, but it made me feel _special_, having a handsome seventh year walk with me from class to class. I mean, it would make any girl feel special.

Saturday was when it happened.

I'm still in shock.

I spent the day with Harry, Ron, Luna, and some others. Hermione was studying, as usual. She's been high-strung this month, already stressing herself out over NEWTS ("Don't you lot care about your futures at _all_!?").

There was a nip in the air, but it didn't stop us from spending our Saturday outside. Justin brought out something called a "frizz-bee", a weird, disk-shaped Muggle thing that flies if you throw it just right. We tossed it around for most of the afternoon, talking and joking around, enjoying our freedom.

At suppertime, Draco was trying to tell me something from across the room. He kept glancing in my direction, lip-syncing what seemed like an important message. The only words I could make out were 'meet me'.

As I was leaving the Dining Hall, Draco passed me and discreetly slipped a folded piece of parchment into my hand. I quickened my step and unfolded the note as soon as I arrived in my dormitory. Though I could tell the message was written with haste, Draco's penmanship was distinguished. The single sentence was very straight, very uniform.

_Meet me in the Astronomy Tower at eleven o'clock, tonight. _

Excitement and nervousness brewed in my chest, a swirling concoction over a flame in my stomach that had slowly been growing since I'd first seen Draco on the Hogwarts Express.

A stitch of doubt made me unsure of whether or not to go. But an imposing voice, saying 'He's older, he's hot, and he wants to meet you, _alone_' pushed aside the skeptical feeling. I kept busy with my 40 kilos of Potions homework, anxiously awaiting 11pm.

At around 10:30, I slipped upstairs to change. I dressed in fitted jeans and a white tank top. Assuming it'd be chilly up in the Astronomy Tower, I tied a maroon sweater around my shoulders. I styled my hair pin-straight with my wand and applied some gloss to my lips. Pleased with my appearance, I drew in a deep breath and exited the dormitory.

I bumped into a frazzled-looking Hermione on the stairs.

"You look nice," she commented as I passed.

"Oh, thanks," I mumbled, jogging down the steps before she could ask where I was headed.

I peered cautiously into the common room to find Harry and Ron playing Wizard Chess by the fireplace. I tiptoed from my hiding place toward the door, but Ron spotted me.

"Hey, Gin! Where you off to at this hour?"

"Ah, ermm..."

I couldn't think of an excuse fast enough.

"I've a date."

I hustled out of the common room and into the vacant hallway. I took a few strides when I heard footsteps behind me. I assumed it was Ron, as he's quite paranoid about who I date. I turned to tell him that he should sod off because it's my business, only to find myself face-to-face with Harry. My eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"Ginny," he said in an earnest tone. "Are you meeting—I mean, who are you going to see?"

I shuffled my feet. There was no use in lying.

"Draco," I confessed.

Harry drew in a sharp breath and opened his mouth to object, but restrained himself.

I suddenly felt guilty.

"Harry, I know you don't like him, and I'm sorry, but, Harry, he's real nice to me—"

"It's fine," he interrupted curtly. "Just... I don't know, be careful."

He looked pleading, slightly desperate.

I nodded vigorously, trying to reassure him. Maybe I was trying to assure myself as well.

With that, I turned and trekked quickly down the hall, forcing the image of Harry's worried face aside. When I arrived at the Astronomy Tower, Draco was already there, his back to me.

"Sorry, have you been waiting long?" I inquired.

He spun around coolly.

"Not at all," he replied. He held out a hand. "Come here."

My mind hesitated, but my body moved toward him by impulse. I took his hand and gazed up at him, a flirty smile plastered on my face. He tilted his head back.

"There was a full moon on the 15th," he murmured.

I immediately thought of Lupin.

"Now it's only about a quarter whole, but when it's full on a clear night, the view from up here is quite breathtaking."

"I imagine so," I said, angling my head upwards as well.

The sliver of moon was in the center of my vision, surrounded by thousands of twinkling stars. I've always been fascinated by them, the fact that they shine so innocently, when in reality they burn with such fierceness millions of miles away.

"When I was younger, I used to pretend stars were lights from distant cities," I told him.

Draco snickered. I shoved him.

"Don't make fun of me!" I whined. We met eye-to-eye.

"I'm not, I'm not," he stated. "I think it's cute."

He slid his arm around my shoulder and pulled me closer. His robe smelled like it had just been laundered. His scent reminded me of winter, clean and crisp. He started playing with my hair, twirling a piece around his index finger. We stood like that for many minutes, making small talk, our bodies touching.

Draco then turned his body toward me, his hand relocating to my hip. I turned to face him as well, not knowing what to expect. His unoccupied hand rose to my cheek. I froze. He stroked my skin lightly, then traced his middle finger from just under my ear to my chin, following the line of my jaw.

"You're very beautiful, you know that?" he whispered.

Speechless, I smiled stupidly.

He dipped my head back and our lips met. Fireworks exploded inside my head. My heart was a hysterical bird, slamming against the confining bones of my ribcage.

Draco's kiss was firm, confident. It wasn't a French kiss, but it was still sensual, sending a tingling sensation down my spine.

It lasted about ten seconds. Draco smirked when we pulled away from each other. I leaned into him, feeling like I was about to faint. Both of his hands in the pockets of my jeans, he pulled me in, our hips matching up.

"Spend next Saturday with me, at Hogsmeade," he said, his head resting atop mine.

It sounded more like an order than a request, yet I was so overcome with bliss that couldn't have cared less.

"Mmhmm," I answered vaguely, my face buried into his robes. I didn't want him to let go. But sure enough, he did.

"It's late, Ginny. We should get back now."

My shoulders sagged with disappointment. I stepped away reluctantly but took his hand for support, as I was still unsure of my feet. We descended the spiraling staircase together.

Draco planted a quick kiss on my cheek when we parted ways. I crept through the dimly lit hallways until I'd reached the Fat Lady. I whispered the password, scrambled through the portrait hole, passed through the empty common room and climbed the stairs to my dormitory.

I changed into pajama pants and slipped into bed without a sound. I replayed the kiss in my mind a dozen times, then fell asleep with my fingertips on my cheek where his lips had been only moments before.

I don't know what's come over me. Just over a week ago, I was crushing on Harry. Now I'm head-over-heels for Draco. Everything's happening so fast.

There's no way I could've seen this coming. Boys are confusing, unpredictable.

I cannot _believe_ I snogged Draco.

Write later,  
Ginny

/

A/N: Crazy, eh?  
Just in case anyone cares, I Googled a calendar of September 1997 to find out when the full moon actually was. Accuracy is everything! :)


	5. Chapter Five: Insomnia

Here's chapter five. Please review, give me feedback. Compliments, suggestions, complaints? Let me know.

Thank you and enjoy the show.

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**_October 5th – 3:50am – Gryffindor Tower, Girl's Dormitory._**

Tonight, I'm an insomniac. I'm writing this under my covers, my wand lighting the paper. I'm feeling too many emotions to sleep right now; my thoughts are completely jumbled. The only thing I _do_ realize is that things between Harry and I are royally messed up.

I guess I'll begin with Hogsmeade. Though I'd had that reoccurring doubtful inkling about spending the day with Draco, I stayed true to my word, and the trip was pleasant enough. I'd been worried that he was going to ditch me for his Slytherin mates, but he stayed with me the whole time, his arm constantly draped around my shoulders.

I suppose Draco was in a generous mood. He bought me everything I appeared remotely interested in. At first I told him not to, but he grew so insistent that I gave up. By the end of the afternoon, he'd bought me a new sweater, a silver bracelet, a fuzzy hat and matching mittens, two bottles of perfume, my own copy of _Quidditch Through the Ages_, and a lifetime supply of sweets. He also demanded that _he_ tote around all of my new possessions.

As we strolled in and out of the shops, Draco paying for practically every item I cast an idle glance toward, we talked quite a lot of Quidditch. We discussed our favorite professional teams, and the Quidditch World Cup match we'd both attended three years prior. He purchased some expensive polish for the shaft of his "top-of-the-line Nimbus Twenty-Ten Plus, the latest model". He boasted for a good fifteen minutes about this new broomstick of his, a gift his father had given to him at the beginning of the school year.

At around 3:30, I suggested that we get a drink in the Three Broomsticks in an effort to prevent Draco from buying me anything else, as his generosity was becoming a bit over-the-top.

Fellow students shot curious glances our way when we entered the pub, making me instantly uncomfortable. It's not often you see a Gryffindor and a Slytherin walking hand-in-hand. At the same time, I was determined not to let their prying eyes faze me. I tightened my grip on Draco's hand with defiance as we searched for an empty table.

A small group of third year Ravenclaws were vacating a booth right near the bar. Draco ordered two butterbeers then sat down next to me. He slid his arm possessively around my waist. I tried not to notice that we continued to receive fleeting inspections and that the voices around us had lowered to a gossipy murmur.

As soon as our drinks arrived, Harry, Ron and Hermione entered the pub. Ron and Hermione looked like they were engaged in an amusing conversation, both of them laughing heartily. They sat down at a table near the door. I tensed up as Harry approached the bar.

The very moment Harry spotted us, Draco leaned over and kissed me, entirely oblivious to the fact that we were being watched. He tasted like butterbeer. Harry's eyes widened and his jaw started to drop, but he snapped his mouth closed, his lips disappearing into a thin line. He swung back to the bar, grabbed the butterbeers he'd ordered and marched stiffly to where Ron and Hermione sat.

Mortified, I placed a palm on Draco's chest and gently pushed him away.

"Can we go somewhere else?" I requested.

"Yeah, it's too crowded," he agreed, reaching for the numerous shopping bags that resided under the table.

I slipped out of the booth and squeezed my way along the narrow path to the door, leaving behind my untouched butterbeer. Draco followed close behind me, the paper shopping bags rustling as they bumped against the barstools. I willed myself not to look at Harry as I departed the pub and prayed that Ron hadn't seen me snogging Draco.

Relief washed over me when I found myself back out on the bustling street. The brisk autumn air filled my lungs, causing my body to relax, the muscles in my shoulders to unclench. Draco poked me in the side. I giggled, feeling much less uptight.

"Where to?" he asked.

'Somewhere else' turned out to be Madam Paddifoot's so, naturally, Draco and I ended up in a full-scale snogfest. It was quite lovely; Draco's a brilliant kisser. But my thoughts kept drifting to the mental picture of Harry's stunned expression. I inwardly worried that he would be angry with me.

Angry. Well, to say the least, describing him as angry would be a severe understatement.

We returned to Hogwarts at around 6:30. After dinner, I spent a couple hours in the common room catching up on some homework and quizzing Hermione on her Charms notes. I was still thinking about Harry catching Draco and I kissing in the Three Broomsticks. I'd decided I was going to talk to Harry about it. Even though I wasn't sure what I was to say, I'd made up my mind that discussing the matter, as opposed to pretending it had never happened, would be better in the long run.

Ron and Hermione were in the common room with me. I was relieved that they didn't seem to have any knowledge of The Kiss. Both of them were acting normal; Ron reading by the fire, Hermione begging me to quiz her "just one more time". Seamus and Dean were sitting on the carpet playing cards. A group of younger students I didn't know were in the room as well, chatting quietly.

At 9:15, Harry trudged down from the boy's dormitory looking distressed. He plopped down on a squashy chair and dropped a Transfiguration textbook, a roll of parchment and a quill on the table in front of him.

"All righ', mate?" Ron said, nodding to Harry.

"Mmm," Harry grunted dully.

He wouldn't look at me. He stared down at the open textbook, his brow furrowed in concentration. Yet, it didn't look like he was actually reading. His eyes stayed stationary, focusing on a single point. I tore my gaze away from him and fixed my attention to Hermione's notes.

About a half an hour later, Hermione was finally convinced she'd studied enough and asked me about the new bracelet I was sporting.

"You got this today?" she inquired, fingering the silver chain.

I nodded.

"Doesn't look cheap. How'd you pay for it?"

"Erm, I didn't. Someone bought it for me. As a gift," I replied, trying to keep my voice low.

But I think Harry heard me.

In one fluid motion, he swept up his textbook as he stood then hurled it to the floor. He turned his back to us and paced toward the boy's dormitory, running a hand through his hair.

"God, I can't take this," he muttered.

Silence replaced the soft chatter.

"Harry, what's wrong?" Hermione asked, sounding worried.

Harry spun around. His eyes were filled with fire, revealing suppressed fury. He glared in my direction.

"I can't _believe_ you're with Malfoy," he spat.

"She's _what!?_" Ron cried, his eyes bugging out.

"That cowardly bastard," Harry hissed, ignoring Ron.

I opened my mouth to defend Draco, but found I couldn't speak. Harry raged on.

"It truly surprises me that you can't see through him. This 'Mr. Nice Guy' thing he's doing. It's all an act, Ginny. He doesn't care about you."

I stood up with such force that all the blood drained from my head, and a dizzy spell came over me.

"He does _so_ care about me."

I tried to speak with conviction, but I was trembling, my voice shaky. The room had fallen deathly silent. Everyone present froze, as if they feared Harry would literally explode if there was any movement.

"No, Ginny. He doesn't."

"How would you even know, Harry?"

"Because I've dealt with him since first year! He doesn't care about anyone but himself! He's a cocky prat, walks around like the sun shines out his arse. And maybe you've forgotten! He's a _Slytherin_ and his father's a _Death Eater!_"

I was terrified. Never before had I seen Harry the way he was, his cheeks flushed, his face contorted with rage. But I told myself to act unafraid. Taking a step closer to him, I gathered all the strength I had and looked him in the eye.

"It doesn't matter to me what House he's in, or who is father is," I challenged, gritting my teeth. "He respects me! _That's_ what bloody matters! And your prejudiced opinion isn't going to change that!"

"_Prejudiced!?_ You can't be serious! Malfoy's an arrogant son-of-a-bitch, and that's a fact. You'd barely talked to him before the beginning of this school year, and suddenly you think you know him better than I do?"

"I certainly know that he's a more considerate bloke than you'll ever be!" I retorted. At that point, it felt like I was scarcely in control over what surged from my mouth. So much for having a rational discussion.

"Jesus, _you're so goddamned naïve!_" Harry roared, throwing his arms in the air. "He's won you over just by buying you a load of _shit_ you don't need!"

Leaning even closer to him, I clenched my fists, my arms rigid, and drew in a quivering breath.

"_Why—do—you—care?_" I shouted, annunciating each word.

"Because I—"

For the first time in our argument, Harry hesitated. His chest was rising and falling rapidly. For a split second, he appeared exposed, defeated.

Hermione rose from the couch. I watched her, confused.

"H-harry," she stammered, almost inaudibly. "Harry, it's her life."

Harry's face had changed. His glare fell to the floor as he shook his head gravely.

After a few long seconds, he viewed me once more. I was astonished that his eyes were teeming with the same sadness they'd possessed when the two of us were by the lake; when he'd unveiled his grievous memory, involving Sirius.

Fixated on me, he finally spoke.

"You know what, Hermione? You're right. It is her life. She can destroy it if she wants to."

With that, he stalked up the stairs to the boy's dormitory, leaving me in a pool of angry words.

I ordered myself to stay strong, not to cry. And I didn't. Not even when I was alone, here, in this bed, unable to sleep, my own resentful voice echoing in my ears.

I'm thoroughly regretting the childish things I said. Yet I'm angry, bitter. Harry said himself that I've the right to make my own choices.

I'm torn between him and Draco. I don't want to lose what I have (or should I say, _had_) with either of them. I refuse to choose between them. Although, what choice is there to make? Harry doesn't want anything to do with me. After tonight, I feel as if I've become an enemy. It's a hurtful feeling.

But I won't cry.

Besides, what do I care? Harry's got some nerve, telling me I'm wrong, calling me naïve. He's the one that's wrong. Draco _does_ care about me.

.. doesn't he?


	6. Chapter Six: A Slytherin Celebration

Hey everyone, here's the next chapter. Sorry it's been so long, but school/soccer started so I've been really busy.

Anyway, enjoy this! Please Read/Review, even if you've reviewed before, because I love feedback!

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_October 13th – 12:45pm – Dining Hall._

Harry hasn't spoken to me, or really anybody, since our argument. In fact, there aren't many people _left _for him to speak to. Apparently, he got in a row with Ron the other night and Hermione's taken Ron's side. Dean and Seamus are scared to talk to Harry ever since they witnessed his blowout with me, and everyone else avoids him because he's been so surly in general.

We should make up, but there's no way I'm being the one to apologize first.

Anyway, the first Quidditch match of the school year was on Saturday. Hufflepuff versus Slytherin.

I'm also falling hard and fast for Draco (but what else is new?). When I was leaving the Dining Hall that Saturday morning, he pulled me aside, snogged me senseless, then left to change without a word. I was still panting five minutes later, pondering if it had actually happened, as he had come and gone so quickly.

Thirty minutes passed, and I was watching him strut onto the pitch through Hagrid's binoculars. Harry was glaring daggers at me, but I pretended not to notice. Draco was swaggering leisurely across the field, carrying his Nimbus Twenty-Ten Plus. He was laughing with Blaise Zabini and Daphne Greengrass, both Chasers. Crabbe and Goyle were nipping at their heels, guffawing as well. They reminded me distinctly of trolls, dragging their clubs along the ground. I watched Draco mount his broom and shoot up into the air, loop-de-looping a few times, receiving a thundering cheer from the Slytherin section.

"Showoff," I heard Harry grumble.

Madam Hooch released the Snitch and Bludgers from the case in the center circle, then hurled the Quaffle into the ring of players. Blaise immediately snatched the Quaffle and made a swift pass to Daphne, who broke away from the scramble that always begins a Quidditch match. I was impressed at her speed, considering she'd only just joined the team this September.

I began to search the sky for Draco. I spotted him hovering high above the Slytherin goalposts, the Hufflepuff Seeker, a young-looking blonde girl I didn't know, floating nearby. He wore a moss-green bandana to keep his hair out of his face, and though I couldn't make out his expression, I knew he was had on the ever-present smirk that always makes me melt into a blubbering heap of inarticulacy.

Before I knew it, Slytherin was leading, 20-10. Ron, who was sitting next to me and noticed I wasn't paying attention to the Chasers, snatched the binoculars from me. He muttered something that sounded like "twitchy ferret" and peered through them himself. He followed Daphne through the round lenses on her third breakaway.

"Blimey, she's quick," Ron commented as she pitched the Quaffle through the goalpost on the far right. "Always aims for the same hoop though," he observed, taking note of this fact on a small piece of parchment.

Twenty minutes went by in a flash. Hufflepuff gained the lead, 80-60. And then, it all happened in about thirty seconds.

A streak of green trailed by a stripe of yellow suddenly caught my eye, and I knew Draco had spied the Snitch. He raced around the edge of the pitch; the speed of his new broom was apparent. But the Hufflepuff Seeker, being much lighter, was gaining on him. By the time they rounded the Hufflepuff posts, they were side by side.

They were drawing nearer to the Gryffindor section. I could make out their outstretched arms and billowing Quidditch robes.

The Hufflepuff Seeker's weight, which was to her advantage when catching up to Draco, ended up being her downfall. Just as the two passed the Gryffindor section, Draco gave her a violent, ungentlemanly shove. She was propelled off course, straight into a Hufflepuff Beater.

Curses flew, and by the time they had disentangled themselves, Draco's feet were planted firmly on the ground. His arm was extended high, two silvery, fluttering wings protruding from his fist.

An earsplitting roar erupted from the Slytherin section. The final score was 210-80.

That evening, Draco snuck up behind me on my way to the common room. I felt his fingertips brush my hipbones; it made me shiver. He turned me to face him and kissed me full on the mouth. One hand in my hair, the other on my waist against my bare skin, his lips parted, and I followed suit. For a good half-minute we stood there, tongue-kissing in the middle of a corridor, his hand under my shirt, my arms hanging dumbly at my sides. I'm surprised I didn't faint.

"Hi," I whispered, dumbfounded, when he pulled away.

Draco smirked. I literally felt weak in the knees.

"Ginny. We're having a party tonight to celebrate the win," he informed me. "I'd love for you to join us."

I immediately felt doubtful.

"I don't know, Draco, I won't really know any—"

"You'll know me," he interrupted, hooking his index fingers in the belt loops of my jeans, drawing me closer. "Please come."

He wrapped his arms around me and squeezed me into a tight embrace. I felt convinced.

"I'll be there," I agreed, my voice muffled by the thick fabric of his robes.

"You're the best. Come by our common room at eight. I'll be waiting to let you in."

Well, I didn't know what to expect. But eight o'clock rolled around before I knew it. And Draco was waiting for me outside the Slytherin common room, just like he promised.

"Look at you," he said when I arrived, his eyes wandering from my hair to my legs and back again. I was dressed in a white skirt and an olive-green top, which was a little low cut than I'm usually comfortable with, but I felt it was appropriate for a party (and knowing I'll see Draco makes me want to be a bit... risqué). I wore my hair loose and wavy.

Draco draped a muscular arm across my shoulders and mumbled the password.

The party was already in full throttle.

The Weird Sisters blasted out my eardrums. Some people were around the edges of the room, chatting with drinks in hand. But the majority of the students were dancing up a storm. All the furniture had been cleared away, and the makeshift dance floor was alive with excitement.

Blaise and Daphne were dancing, erm, intimately. Millicent was belting out the words to the song playing while shaking her hair furiously. Pansy was up on a table, holding two drinks. The whole atmosphere was far rowdier than any Gryffindor party, even the ones Fred and George threw when they were still in school.

Draco left my side, but I barely noticed as I was fixed, open-mouthed, on the scene before me. He pinched my side when he returned, holding two butterbeers.

"Drink this, and let's party!" he exclaimed over the noise, handing me a bottle. He opened his own, took a long swig, then grabbed my wrist and dragged me into the dancing mob. We found a small space to dance amongst all the grinding couples.

At first, we weren't dancing very close. He only had his free hand on my hip.

I cracked open my butterbeer and brought the bottle to my lips. I drank deeply, as I was already sweating from the intensity of the room. It tasted different, more bitter, than what I was used to. I squinted against the low light, trying to read the label.

'_5 percent alcohol by volume.'_

Draco noticed me staring at the bottle.

"It's the best kind!" he shouted, giving me the thumbs-up. He'd already finished his own.

I smiled back at him. My head was pounding from the music, and it felt okay. I took another sip. What could one drink do?

Well, it turned out to be more than one drink. All the dancing was making me so hot, leaving my mouth dry. I drank three bottles during our first twenty minutes of dancing. I lost count of how many Draco put away.

And suddenly, we were much closer. Our bodies were pressed together. He clutched my hips, and my hands were up the back of his shirt. His skin was moist with sweat. I was feeling much more daring, highly spontaneous. I started kissing his neck. He placed a hand under my chin and tilted my head back. We danced for another twenty minutes, snogging all the while, pausing only to guzzle down more butterbeer.

Eventually, I was too exhausted to dance any more. I told Draco I wanted to sit down. We started toward one of the couches that had been pushed against a wall, weaving through the crowd. Draco had his arm around my shoulders, but he was leaning on me heavily, as if he couldn't stay upright without support.

Feeling dopey, I collapsed on the couch. My head hung to the side and I couldn't seem to stop smiling.

"I'll get y'another drink, Ginny," Draco said, his words strung together. "Jus' wait 'ere."

He stumbled over to the fireplace and started talking to Blaise. Draco looked over his shoulder at me, then turned back to Blaise. They were both laughing.

I let my head flop to my other shoulder. The room sort of went all fuzzy, becoming a blur of light and color, and then came into focus again. I snickered for no reason.

Draco strode drunkenly back to me. He tripped a bit on the edge of the carpet and landed on the couch next to me. Laughing at himself, he handed me another butterbeer. My tongue and throat were parched, so I chugged half the bottle.

"Y'enjoyin' yourself?" Draco slurred, placing a hand on my thigh.

I giggled automatically and took another sip.

"I am, Draco," I answered. I was surprised that I had to struggle to keep my voice clear.

"I knew y'would," he drawled, sounding sleepy, before polishing off another bottle. I finished mine too.

I honestly don't remember what happened after that. I recall more drinking and a whole lot of kissing. Somehow, I made it back to my dormitory, but woke up the next morning with my head at the foot of my bed and my feet on the pillow.

Draco wasn't at breakfast, but I saw him on the grounds later with his Slytherin mates. He was looking pretty miserable. His hair was sticking up in places and he had dark circles under his eyes. I noticed that he winced and brought his hand to his temple whenever Pansy let out a shriek of laughter. Yet he brightened a bit when he saw me, and we spent most of the afternoon together.

I'm not quite sure how to feel about the party. I've never drunk more than a sip of alcoholic butterbeer, let alone had so much that I don't remember what happened after a certain time. But is drinking really very wrong? I feel a _little_ guilty now, but it was all right at the time. I enjoyed myself. What's the problem with that?

This sounds silly. But being with Draco kind of makes me _want_ to be bad. When I'm with him, I'm not the Little Sister. I'm the grown-up sixteen-year-old, the one that's sick of being branded as 'innocent'. The one that drinks alcoholic butterbeer and lets her boyfriend put his hands all over her.

It feels good to break out of what's expected of me.

It feels good to be bad.

Until next time,  
Ginny


	7. Chapter Seven: Worthless

Well, it's taken a while because of school and such, but here's the next entry! It's the longest chapter as of now. A whole lot happens, and it took several writing sessions and a day or two of editing to finish. Thank you so much to all who reviewed - I can't tell you how much I appreciate it. Keep that feedback coming!!

**Desiree K Troy -** Special thanks to you for reading my other fic. I hardly got any feedback when I first posted it, so I can't thank you enough for having interest in my other writing. :) :)

**Laney-Wood - **About Ginny snapping out of it? Just read on, my friend.

Enjoy!

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_**October 25th – 10:10am – Gryffindor Tower, Girl's Dormitory.**_

Well, I've been wrong.

All this time, I've been so wrong. So _stupid._

I hate crying. But since last night, I think I've cried more than I have in my entire life.

I'm still crying. My cheek still stings to the touch.

But it hurts more inside. And I need to get it all out.

Yesterday morning, before classes, Draco invited me to another Slytherin party. He grabbed me by the hips as I was leaving the Dining Hall. He would always do that. It makes me feel sick to think about it now.

"Goyle's birthday was on Tuesday," he told me. "We're celebrating tonight."

He peered at me expectantly.

"And you want me to come?" I asked, finishing his sentence.

"I know you had fun last time. Admit it," he urged, smirking.

I nodded.

"See you tonight, then."

Then he disappeared into the crowded hallway. I never said I would come. I don't even know if I wanted to. But I showed up anyway, dressed up all pretty for a guy that never really cared about me.

Draco eyed me head to toe again, like he had the evening of the Quidditch win celebration. I was wearing a white button-down top with my favorite jeans. I'd applied quite a bit of eye makeup, which is now probably all over my face. But I don't want to look at myself. I can't look at myself.

We snogged for a minute or two outside the common room. Just thinking about that makes me want to throw up (again).

The party was more relaxed than the other one had been. The music wasn't as loud. Instead of dozens of grinding couples, the room was a mass of snogging couples. Blaise and Daphne actually detached themselves from each other long enough for us to discuss Quidditch with Draco and me for a while. Although everyone was knocking back just as much butterbeer, the atmosphere was pretty mellow.

Draco and I made some decent conversation. Yet he sounded impatient. He was sort of antsy the whole time we were in the common room; he drank plenty of butterbeer and kept checking the clock.

We started kissing when we ran out of things to say. He could never take silence. We always had to be talking or sucking each other's faces. I was uncomfortable about that, and I hate myself for going along with it, without fail. He called the shots. That's the way it was. If I had stood up for myself, maybe none of this would have happened.

Or if I'd used my common sense. But I was drunk at this point. We snogged, drank, snogged some more.

And then he invited me up to his dormitory.

Naturally, I went. When you're drunk, it's much easier to trust people.

He opened the door to his dorm and let me in first. He then pulled it closed and turned the lock. Though I noticed, I thought nothing of it. I knew he just wanted privacy.

I sat down on his bed and chugged the remains of a butterbeer I'd brought with me. Draco smiled mischievously as I threw the empty bottle aside.

"What?" I asked, giggling.

"If y'like that, I've something better," he drawled, casting me an intoxicated wink.

Draco threw open his trunk and began rummaging around inside it. He pulled out a clear, glass bottle half-filled with a dark amber-colored liquid and two small glasses. Sitting next to me on his bed, he poured one of the glasses about a fourth full and handed it to me. He poured the same amount in his own glass.

I swirled the strong-smelling drink in the glass, not sure how I was to go about drinking it, or if I even wanted to.

"Jus' knock it back, like this."

Draco angled his head toward the dark green canopy hanging over his bed, brought the glass to his lips and tipped it back carelessly. The drink slipped from the glass and down his throat. It looked like he didn't even have to swallow, like he'd done this hundreds of times. And he probably has.

I hesitated, a strong pinch of doubt in the back of my mind.

"Go on, it won't kill you."

I hate that I'm so easily persuaded.

I closed my eyes and emptied the contents of the glass into my mouth. I swallowed with great difficulty. It felt like my chest had caught fire. Breaking into a fit of coughs, I brought a hand to my neck.

Draco laughed.

"Lovely warming sensation, isn't it?"

I stared at him, breathless.

He poured another for himself, then refilled my glass.

I don't know why I drank it.

The doubtful voice in my thoughts was objecting fiercely, but I kept blocking it out.

_Do you want him to like you, or not? _Another voice demanded. _Just drink it._

So I did. Glass after glass, the burning lessened, but was still far from pleasant.

And then things started to get scary.

Draco and I began snogging, and soon he had me pinned to the bed. His kisses were rough, hurried. He pulled off his black T-shirt, revealing a well-defined chest and torso.

His lips migrated from my mouth to my neck, then to my chest. He started to unbutton my shirt, and I knew what was coming. I felt my whole body tense up in a rush of panic.

"Draco, d-don't..." I stammered helplessly.

He brought a finger to my lips.

"Shhh," he hushed, then resumed undressing me.

Breathing shallowly, I shook my head, unsure of what to say. Draco didn't notice.

Paralyzed from the neck down, I tried to object again.

"N-no, Draco. Don't..." I pleaded. My head was spinning. I was seeing double.

Draco brought his face to mine and squinted at me with his silvery-blue eyes. He wore a determined expression, an irritated frown on his lips.

"You want this. I know you do," he told me. "Just relax."

Draco started on my pants. I couldn't relax. I didn't want it. I couldn't let him tell me what I wanted anymore.

"STOP!"

I was stunned for a moment, then realized it was me who had cried out.

There was a pause, then Draco shot forward to face me again. He clamped my arms on either side of me. Scowling at me, his eyes like steel, he spoke in a malicious voice barely louder than a whisper. His breath was hot and thick with alcohol.

"We stop when I say we stop."

All the doubt I had ever felt when with him exploded in my face. A wave a realization crashed down on me. _He doesn't care._ He never has. All this time, there has been only one thing he's wanted.

_And he's going to get what he wants if you don't do something, _my inner voice professed.

Draco suddenly sat bolt upright, each of his knees on either side of me, straddling my legs. He proceeded to un-do his belt.

_Do something._

Unable to move, I watched him slip the brown leather strap from the buckle; pull down his zipper...

_Do something._

I finally reacted with the first thing that came to mind.

I hauled myself to a sitting position and, bending my right leg, drove my knee upward into him with all the force I could muster.

Draco let out a shriek that was several octaves higher than his regular voice and fell sideways onto the bed.

I rolled the opposite direction but, as I was still drunk, hit my head on Draco's bedside table as I tumbled to the floor. Dazed, I couldn't stand. By then, Draco had staggered around the bed and towered before me.

"You little piece of Mudblood-loving—"

"Don't use that word!" I barked. My indignant tone of voice surprised both of us.

I stood to face him.

"You deserved that. I can't believe you. D'you think I'm stupid? I would never let a prat like you ha—"

It happened in the blink of an eye. Draco raised his arm and struck me across the face with so much force that I was thrown to the floor.

"I never should've wasted my time on a Weasel like you," Draco snarled, wearing an icy glare.

Courage failed me. I lay on the carpet, whimpering, tears in my eyes.

"You're nothing, y'know that? You're worthless," he spat, sneering. "Get out."

I obeyed, clambering frantically to my feet. Though my hands shook and my vision was blurry, I managed to unlock the door and heave it open. I heard Draco mutter something that sounded distinctly like "frigid bitch" as I sprinted down the stairs.

There were still people in the common room, but the light was low, and none of them saw me leave.

I stumbled through the empty corridors, my tears and drunkenness keeping me from seeing and walking straight. I couldn't find my way back to the Gryffindor tower.

I sunk down against the wall, tears cascading from bloodshot eyes, Draco's hateful words echoing in my ears over and over.

_You're nothing._

I heard footsteps around the corner, but I didn't bother trying to hide. The night couldn't have gotten worse.

_You're worthless._

The footsteps grew louder, then the owner of them broke into a run. I kept my eyes closed, braced for some kind of scolding for being in the halls so late.

Instead, a familiar voice spoke my name.

"Ginny?"

It was Hermione.

"Ron! Ron, come quickly!"

Another set of footsteps came from around the same corner, then Ron came into view. He jogged over to us and knelt down next to me. He placed a hand on my shoulder.

"Godric, what happened? Where've you been?" he asked, his brow furrowed with worry.

"I... I was..."

I was what? Drinking fire whiskey at a Slytherin party? Being pressured by Draco to have sex? Getting hit when I said no?

I couldn't tell them.

"Nowhere," I responded. "Just take me to the common room."

Much to my relief and gratitude, they didn't ask questions.

I felt nauseous by the time we reached the Fat Lady. Once we were inside the common room, I thanked Ron and Hermione. I could feel them watching me as I climbed the stairs to the girl's dormitory. Instead of going into my room, I zigzagged down the hall to the bathroom.

I pushed through the swinging door and entered a stall. Feeling dizzy and sick, I dropped to my knees and vomited into the toilet bowl.

It burned ten times worse coming up than it did going down.

I curled up on the floor, hugging my knees, and started to cry again. The cool tiles soothed my stinging cheek, and I closed my eyes, hoping to sleep away my misery.

* * *

I awoke a few hours later, my head throbbing from when I fell from Draco's bed and my cheek sore where he hit me. My throat raw and my mouth tasting like stale butterbeer, I tried to stand. But as I found my footing, my stomach gave a horrible lurch. I keeled over the sink and retched a second time. 

I decided it was better to keep all four limbs to the floor. On hands and knees, I shuffled out of the bathroom.

The dark hallway looked creepy and uninviting. I longed for warmth; something to lull the torn-up feeling in my chest. So, of course, the perpetually burning fire in the common room appealed to me.

I dragged myself down the hall and descended the stairs on my rear, step by step.

I expected the common room to be empty. But as I slipped off the final stair, I was startled to see a boy sitting on one of the leather couches by the fire, his head down, examining the carpet, his hands buried in a tangled mess of black hair.

Suddenly, he jerked his head up and gazed toward me. He appeared very tired and distraught, the way someone looks when they're stressed or have a terrific headache.

"Merlin, Ginny. Didn't see you there."

I crawled over to him and hoisted myself onto the couch across from where he sat. I faced him, feeling safer away from the gloom of the upstairs hallway and in the glow of the firelight.

Harry glanced at me, peered at the carpet again, then made a double take and stood up so quickly it was like someone had stuck a thumbtack in his bottom. He practically fell down rushing over to my side.

"Ginny, your cheek! I didn't see before, Merlin's beard! What happened?"

I realized I hadn't looked at myself since the... incident. I pondered momentarily about how badly I was bruised. Harry seemed to think it looked pretty terrible, a shocked expression on his face. He gingerly stroked my injured cheek with his fingertips, then snatched back his hand and ran it through his hair as if touching me had been an accident.

"Oh, erm, I don't know," I replied, shrugging.

I wasn't sure if I wanted to tell him. A sudden flashback of conversing with him by the lake made me wonder if I should. He had been so understanding, such a good listener. But it was the first time in weeks we had said more than "Pass the potatoes" to each other. I wasn't ready to talk about what had just happened. At least, not at that point.

"I don't believe you," Harry responded, sounding suspicious, but apprehensive at the same time.

"It's nothing, Harry," I reassured him, smiling weakly.

Though he didn't seem satisfied with my answer, he calmed down a bit and re-seated next to me. I thought it best to change the subject.

"Why're you up so late?" I asked.

He hesitated, then inspected me carefully, a strange smile on his lips.

"Honestly?" he inquired, looking uncertain.

"Honestly."

"Well, Ron came up to our room at around midnight. Prefect duties, and all. He said..."

Harry paused. He picked at a cuticle for a few seconds, then cleared his throat and continued.

"Ron said he and Hermione found you in a corridor when they were coming up from patrolling the hallways. He said you were... upset."

I bit my lip, feeling nauseated again. He glanced at me for confirmation; I nodded, feeling too beat up, both metaphorically and literally, to deny anything.

"And, well..."

He stopped again, this time to let out a long sigh.

"If you really want to know, I couldn't sleep. Thinking about, well, you. Firstly, because I've felt like England's biggest prat for starting that argument with you. I really have. And I feel terrible for being too bloody stubborn to apologize. Until now."

"I'm sorry too. Besides, you were right," I croaked, my voice breaking mid-sentence. Harry continued.

"Also, Ron was worried. _Really _worried. He said you didn't look like your normal self. He said it seemed like it couldn't have been an ordinary thing that you were disappointed or angry over."

He turned his head, his eyes focused on mine.

"And now that I see you, I know what he means."

Fresh tears trickled across my cheeks.

"I couldn't sleep, thinking about what might've happened to you."

I burst into a full-blown breakdown, hysterical sobs and all.

And I told him. I told him everything. Before I could stop myself, my story was out.

When I'd stopped crying, I peeked at Harry. His eyes were alight with emotion; a feeling I couldn't decode. Finally, he spoke.

"He hit you?"

I nodded.

"Malfoy _hit_ you," he repeated, as a very blunt statement.

I nodded again, but suddenly felt exhausted. The night had caught up with me. Cautiously, I rose to my feet. I thanked Harry and said not to tell _anybody_ what I'd told him. He nodded absently, choosing not to respond right away. He seemed kind of zoned out, glaring intently at the opposite wall. I was halfway up the stairs when I finally heard him reply.

"I won't, Ginny. Sleep well."

And now, I'm here in my bed. Didn't go to the Dining Hall for breakfast this morning, and I don't plan on leaving Gryffindor Tower all day.

I can't face Draco. I never want to see him again.

And although confiding in Harry made me feel a bit better, I'd still rather never leave this room for as long as I live.

I can still hear Draco's words so clearly.

_You're nothing._

_You're worthless._

Maybe he's right.

* * *

One word: **REVIEW!**


	8. Chapter Eight: A New Development

Hey all you fanfiction-ers! I've been really bad about updating this story. It's been, what, over a month? Well, I finally got around to it, and I'm apologize; this chappie is a little on the short side. Stuff is found out, though... Lots of dialogue between Ginny and Ron, which has been lacking.

Enjoy! And pleeeeeeeease **REVIEW!**

* * *

_October 27 – 8:30pm – Library._

Apparently big things happened during the breakfast I skipped on Saturday.

It was cold this afternoon when I showed up at the pitch for Quidditch training. The sky was a sickly grey, the trees drooped, the grass didn't look as green. Depressing. The weather generally mirrored how I was feeling. I'd developed a cough and a clogged conk overnight and was in no mood for Quidditch. But, when your brother is House captain, you're strongly obligated to make an appearance. Now I wish I hadn't. Regardless, I wouldn't have been able to avoid what was coming.

Harry was nowhere in sight. Ron approached me, handed me a Snitch, and started walking away before I called him back.

"Ron! What in blazes are you giving me this for?" I asked, confused.

He turned, giving me a quizzical look.

"Ohhh!" he exclaimed. "No one's told you?"

"Told me what?"

"Harry's been suspended from the team for a month."

My jaw dropped. Thunderstruck, I gaped at my brother, hoping I'd misheard him.

"_What!?_" I blurted, dropping my broomstick. It landed with a dull _thud. _I tried to move to retrieve it, but my body was rigid with shock.

"So, you'll have to be our Seeker for a while."

"W-what? Why did he—what... did? He was _what??_" I sputtered.

"_Sus-pen-ded,_" Ron repeated, annunciating each syllable with an exaggerated roll of his eyes.

"Why!?"

"He landed Malfoy in the hospital wing with a broken nose. I saw the whole thing. It was bloody brilliant, if you ask me," said Ron, laughing. Then his face became stern. His shoulders rose into a shrug as he regarded my fallen broom with vague interest. "Had to get himself booted from the team, though."

He started to turn again. I snatched the sleeve of his robe.

"What happened?" I asked, pulling him back around.

Ron shook himself from my grasp and gave me an irritated brotherly glare before answering.

"On Saturday, during breakfast, Harry went over to the Slytherin table. He looked mighty pissed off too. And no, I don't know why."

He paused, for suspense I suppose.

"Draco stood up, and they started arguing. No one could hear what they were saying, though. They were like, whispering. Their faces were really close together."

Another dramatic pause.

"Get on with it!" I urged, exasperated.

"Well, one minute they were just in each others faces like that, the next Draco was on the floor and about fifty Slytherin girls were screaming like the morons they are. Gave me a bloody headache, they did."

I waited.

"So, that's it? Harry hit Malfoy? And you don't know why?" I inquired.

"Nah, don't know why. Harry hasn't told anyone."

Ron stopped again, but this time it appeared as if he was trying to remember something. His eyes flicked to my bruise (which is fading, but still visible).

"After Draco went down, Harry hollered at him, _'How do you like it?_'. Which I don't quite understand."

At this point, I reached a whole new level of astonishment. I stood my ground, gawking idiotically in disbelief. Ron squinted at me with suspicion, but said nothing more.

New emotions piled on top of feeling stupid for ever trusting Draco and hurt in more ways than one. First and foremost, guilt. Harry got suspended because of me. If I had only kept my big mouth shut about what happened, he wouldn't have hit Draco and gotten into such trouble.

But next... I felt sort of flattered. The fact that Harry would "defend my honor", per se, is... well, flattering. And saying "How do you like it?" ... not a bad line to go out on.

Agh. No, I shouldn't condone this act of violence.

But still.

Anyway. Lastly, I was consumed with utter and complete _terror. _I hadn't trained to be Seeker in over a year.

The Snitch was flailing against my clutches. I gripped it tighter. That familiar queasy sensation returned as I realized the next match, in less than two weeks time, was versus Slytherin. I would have to face Draco, compete with _Draco_, be shoved around by **_Draco_**. His name thumped against my skull like the steady rhythm of a drum; _Draco, Draco, Draco..._

There's no way I could do it.

"I-I can't! I can't be Seeker!" I shouted suddenly to Ron, who had slipped away to the pitch and was standing with the rest of the team. Several faces, including those of Ron, Seamus, Andy, and Jack swiveled toward me. My breath shallow, I cast Ron a pleading look.

He hesitated, then told the team, "Go start warming up. Equipment's by the hoops." Grumbling, they obeyed. Ron jogged over to me and placed a hand on my shoulder.

"Why, Gin?"

I shook my head and let my gaze fall to the grass, fighting back tears.

"I can't."

"Only two matches this month, Gin. Then Harry's punishment will be over, and you'll go back to being a Ch—"

"But... Slytherin, in two weeks..."

I drew in a quivering breath as I lifted my eyes to meet Ron's.

"The other night, Draco... well, Draco and I aren't together anymore," I explained.

"It's about time!" Ron scoffed, but immediately looked apologetic. "Sorry. I mean, he's just a big... well, I don't think he was right for you, is all."

"He wasn't," I concurred, threading shaky fingers through my hair. "I just don't... want to be Seeker against Slytherin. Against Draco. I don't feel ready to... to..."

"Gin, think about this. It's your chance to show him up. Whatever he did to fuck over your relationship I'm sure deserves more than just that punch. Beat the bloody prat at what he thinks he's good at!" Ron thrust a fist into the air. "Don't be afraid of him. Be self-righteous, dammit, and catch that Snitch before he does!"

Ron scrambled to pick up my broomstick. He shoved it into my arms so passionately that I almost dropped it again. His arms crossed, he let out a quick puff of air, appearing satisfied with his speech. "'Scuse my French," he added, slightly pink in the cheeks.

Nodding, I put on a very fake, appreciative smile. He deserved the assurance, but inside I knew that his efforts were futile.

"Two matches, Gin. That's all I ask."

Easier said than done.

_Draco, Draco, Draco..._

I'm scared.

I saw him on my way to supper today. I just _saw_ him. He didn't even look at me; he had his arm around Pugfaced Pansy, his little groupie. That was all it took for me to break down crying. I retreated to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, and she didn't make it much better. I told her to leave me alone and she did a nose-dive into the toilet, shrieking with laughter.

I hate him. I don't want to see him. But he's everywhere. He's everywhere and he's moved past everything, like it never happened, like _I_ never happened. All I am is another girl in his history – a girl that told him no, which he obviously can't take for an answer. So he blew me off, with a swing of his arm and a few nasty words.

If I can't even pass him in the hall without freaking out, how am I supposed to play against him in the match? He'll probably rub against me if we're side-by-side, chasing the Snitch... ugh. I feel dirty just thinking about it.

I hate myself for thinking he was different than everyone says. But he's not, and he never will be. Godric... stupid. I'm bloody stupid. I'm... nothing.

Actually, I'm not quite nothing. I'm scared. That's what I am. I'm a bundle of fear, awaiting a Quidditch match that I'm not ready to play. I'm a little girl, sitting on the Hogwarts Express for the first time, alone, terrified. I'm a first year all over again, being controlled by somebody else. A person that I thought cared about me, but had ulterior motives. It's déjà vu. Except... one major difference. Draco is _real_. I wasn't in a trance during the times we kissed. I haven't been half-hypnotized for two months. I've been perfectly conscious.

It's just been me. Making stupid decisions and being naïve. Harry was right. He tried to warn me, but I wouldn't listen. Essentially, what happened is my fault. I feel like such a sodding idiot. A worthless, sodding idiot.

And I don't remember ever being so scared.

--Ginny.


	9. Chapter Nine: Big Girls Don't Cry

Well, my last update of this story was about a year and a half ago. Um… yeah. Sorry for the delay?

Recently I read it over again and just felt it would be wrong not to finish.

I don't know if any of my old readers will remember this fic or read the final two chapters (aside from the few people I have told), but that's okay. Basically it just needed to get finished… even if no one reads it, and even if it took a year and a half. This chapter is written in present tense, not journal style, from Ginny's POV. It is rather angsty / dramatic. The last chapter will go back to the journal.

Enjoy! And leave a review, if you like.

-squibbles

* * *

_November 8. _

I'm standing in the Great Hall. I'm not entirely sure how I got here, considering my intention was to fake sick so I wouldn't have to play in the match. Seems unavoidable at this point, now that people have spotted me. I approach the Gryffindor table and sit stiffly beside Ron, who is wolfing down slices of ham with crunchy buttered toast. He used to get so nervous before games that he couldn't eat a thing. Things have changed, I suppose.

I nibble at a muffin to keep people from asking questions. I will not look up. I will not look at Draco. The last thing I need right now is to start crying or something ridiculous like that.

… I look up.

He's draped all over Pansy. Figures. I drop my gaze to the partially eaten muffin, not wanting to see any more. Minutes pass.

Ron nudges me. "Time to get ready," he says as he stands. I follow suit and begin trailing after him, but he doubles back for a final piece of ham. I roll my eyes. Such a pig, he can be. I continue out the Great Hall doors by myself, breathing shallowly. This is it. I'm going to have to play. Any moment now, I'll—

"You're dead, Weasel."

I slow to a stop, but I don't turn around, not sure what to do. Deep breaths. I must put on a straight face, and then set it in stone, before I turn.

"You deaf, Weasel?"

I swivel around carefully but keep my eyes on the floor, feeling helpless.

Draco leans in. "You don't stand a chance against me, Ginny _dearest_. I suggest you just forfeit now, save yourself the humiliation."

There's a fire in my chest, burning strong with anger and hurt. I try to speak, but merely inhale and stop myself. What's the matter with me? When did I become this weak?

He leans in farther. "See you on the pitch, Weasel." With that, he shoves roughly by, causing me to stumble backward a few steps. Tears form in my eyes, but I fight them hard, blinking and biting my lower lip. Big girls don't cry. It's time to do my job for Gryffindor. For now I must be strong and do the best I can for my team.

Dark clouds loom in a grey sky as I start toward the changing rooms. My walk feels long and lonely, but I make it there all right. Jack is already in uniform, pulling on a pair of socks. I smile at him. I've always liked his eagerness. He'll never been as brilliant as Fred and George were, but I admire that he is simply grateful to be on the team.

Everyone else files in. As we change into our robes, Ron begins his pep-talk. He bad-mouths Slytherin, tells us how much better we are, tells us how we're faster and smarter. "This match is ours for the winning!" he announces, which receives an enthusiastic cheer from the team. When the noise dies down, Ron looks straight at me, while still addressing the rest of the group.

"Don't worry about the Snitch, lads. Our Seeker's a Weasley. She's got it covered. Everyone, just concentrate on what you have to do to get us points. We can win this game… we just have to be strong. We have to fight, and refuse to be afraid."

The room falls silent. Ron is still staring at me. Seamus and Jack, standing beside each other, nod thoughtfully. Andy wears a determined expression, his hands wringing around the shaft of his broom. Katie and Demelza lean against the lockers, looking as focused as ever. And I stand shakily, facing my brother, praying to Merlin that I can pull myself together.

"Let's give Slytherin exactly what they deserve."

Seamus cheers, then everyone else joins him, thrusting brooms and fists into the air. We shuffle from the changing room. The others are chatting excitedly while I linger at the back of the line, trying to attain my usual concentration.

_Come on, now. It's just a match. You did fine practicing the other day. Just catch the Snitch. Just find the Snitch, catch the Snitch._

_Draco, Draco, Draco…_

_You can do this. You are strong._

_Draco, Draco…_

Cheers from the Quidditch arena snap me out of my trance. I quickly mount my broom and trail behind the others out onto the pitch. We sweep past the Gryffindor section. The faces and voices blur, but I know my friends are there for me. The least I can do is push my hardest to win, if not for myself, then for them. For Harry and the rest of the team.

We complete our circle around the stands (receiving a thundering "BOO" from the Slytherins) and take our places on the pitch. The Slytherin team, who entered first, is already in position. The dark clouds still swirl overhead. It's going to be a wet and miserable match, I can tell. Madam Hooch is about to throw the Quaffle. I can't believe how fast the game snuck up on me—seems like thirty seconds ago I was in the Great Hall at breakfast.

And suddenly, there is movement all around. I glide upward, above the commotion. Katie has the Quaffle. She dives around Daphne Greengrass, then passes to Seamus, who goes for goal.

Saved by the Slytherin Keeper. I sigh, wishing I was pursuing that big red ball instead of a tiny gold one. I look out into the gloomy morning. Draco hovers nearby, his head swiveling up and down, side to side.

The fire inside flares up, and I close my eyes, trying not to think about all that has happened. It is then that thunder rolls across the sky, followed by cold drops of rain. They are almost soothing. I open my eyes to see Draco pointing his wand toward his eyes. Must be casting a visibility charm—one that I certainly don't know. Anxiety grips me.

The Slytherins cheer. I hear Ron curse as he hurls the Quaffle, which had obviously passed through one of our hoops, to Demelza. "It's all right, Weasley," she yells over the pounding rain before racing up the pitch. The score is 0-10.

I glance around for the Snitch. I watch Draco for a few seconds. He catches me. With a rude hand gesture, he floats farther away from me, apparently not worried about me seeing the Snitch first. I don't think I will either, so I trail after him reluctantly.

The match and the rain rage on. It's getting very cold. Slytherin scores again. Ron curses again. I attempt to reassure him, but he doesn't hear me over the storm, which is getting worse by the second. I can barely see five metres in front of me, let alone where Draco is.

_But I don't need him._

_I can do this. I can find the Snitch on my own._

I float higher and begin to circle the pitch. Thunder sounds once again. I prowl around, unhurried, squinting against the downpour, keeping low on my broom. I hear periodic cheers from the crowd, but I no longer bother to distinguish which sections are celebrating. I am searching for the Snitch. My task is to catch it. I have to focus, no more dilly-dallying, got to find the—

_There it is! There it is!_

Impulsively, I shoot off at top speed. Bolting through the rain, the winged ball is an arm's length away. I reach out. It changes direction suddenly. My hands tight on my broom, I throw myself to the left, steering toward the Snitch's new path. I can still see it. I'm gaining on it! I'm gaining on it! It's so close—

**WHAM!**

I am slammed in the side and veer off course, barrel-rolling twice, one of my hands slipping from my broom's slick shaft. I grip it frantically again, hauling myself upright. What was that? A Bludger?

No. A person.

I see a blonde ponytail and green robes disappear into the rain.

Clenching my teeth, I push after Draco, willing my broom to move faster than his.

The fire inside is burning hotter.

Before long, I spot the green robes again. I lie flat against my broomstick. The wind whipping by my ears gets louder and louder as I gain speed.

I am at Draco's side. I keep alert, ready to dodge another shove. My arm stretches out so far that my shoulder is pained.

Draco pulls away slightly, then comes careening back toward me. Prepared, I sink lower, avoiding his shove in the nick of time. His momentum sends him off into the rainy abyss.

It is just me and the Snitch.

I lunge.

I close my hand.

_Do… do I have it? Did I catch it?_

The Snitch's wings, projecting from either side of my fist, flap hysterically for a few moments before falling limp.

_I've done it._

Emotion rushes from my heart to my eyes, where hot tears begin to fall, mixing with the cold rain. I feel faint. I need to get my feet on solid ground.

Someone grabs my arm. I don't need to think twice about who it is.

"Get your filthy hands off me!" I scream. I feel as if I am watching myself from afar, unable to control my words or my tears. "I hate you! _I hate you!_"

Draco lets go. I feel dizzy and practically plummet to the ground, slipping off my broom when I reach the grass. I find myself on all fours. The world is spinning around me. I just need to get out of here. I just need to run. But people are crowding me now. Gryffindors. Madam Hooch is at my side. I shove the Snitch into her hand. I rise to my feet and force my way through the mob, ignoring them all, still crying, still only watching myself, feeling like a spectator.

And then I run.

It is strange, the way people often find their deepest stores of energy when their bodies seem so drained. I have found my energy. I don't know what exactly it is comprised of. Anger, perhaps. Humiliation. Feeling used, worthless. Strangely enough, these emotions are fantastic (though unhealthy) catalysts for physical exertion. I sprint until I'm out of the arena, until I'm moving across the grounds, until I reach the lake.

Breathless, I double over, burying my face in my hands. So much for 'big girls don't cry.' I sob loudly, wondering how I could possibly be so sad after winning the most important Quidditch match I have ever played.

It doesn't feel like I have won. I feel no satisfaction.

I fall to my knees, and the world goes dark.


	10. Chapter Ten: Going On Seventeen

Well… this is it.

This final entry goes back to the journal style. I forgot to mention in the last post that some stuff isn't quite so canon to the books anymore because I wrote the majority of this fic before HBP. Still, I am so glad to have finally finished this. I'm back into the fanfiction world. Maybe this time I'll really stick with it.

**Resentment** – Thanks a million for reading all 15000-and-some words of this story! I really appreciate your compliments. Hope your foot feels better. ;)

Enjoy!

-squibbles

* * *

_**November 10 – 8:00pm – Hospital Wing.**_

Well, we won the match. The final score was 50-170, Gryffindor.

I don't remember what happened, aside from the little that Harry told me. Rumor has it I hit my head badly when I passed out. Madam Pomfrey attributed my faint to "exhaustion" and is keeping me here for a few days. I guess it was a rough match, but I'm fine now. I really mean that.

Okay, maybe that's a lie. I'm physically healthy, I know I am, I would just leave if Pomfrey let me.

I'm still hurting, though.

But someday, soon, things are going to be all right. Harry… he helped me grasp this.

He visited me this afternoon.

I'll never forget his expression when he walked in. Somehow, he seemed older. His face was creased with worry, and his hands were deep in his robe pockets, as if he was crossing his fingers, hoping I was alive. Obviously, I was, and he knew it. But I guess these days he doesn't keep his hopes too high when it comes to a human life. He's lost his parents, and Sirius—I can't help but get the feeling that, in the back of his mind, he wonders, "Who's next?"

His lips spread into a sad smile. "Ginny," he greeted softly, pulling up a chair beside my bed to sit down. "I brought you some of the best medicine available." He revealed a chocolate frog from his robe pocket and tossed it to me. I thanked him quietly, then opened it with caution, removing the card but keeping the frog inside.

"Daisy Hookum," I read aloud. "Wrote bestseller My Life as a Muggle after giving up magic for a year. Married to celebrity gardener Tilden Toots."

"I used to have a few of her, back when it was still cool to collect those. I sort of miss it," Harry mused, shaking his concerned expression for a moment. It returned, however, just as quickly. "How are you feeling?"

I placed the card and frog aside, then folded my hands in my lap and gazed down at them. "Aside from not remembering the last two days, I'm okay," I replied, peering up again. He stared back at me with those penetrating eyes, as apprehensive as ever. "Really, I'm doing fine," I tried to assure him with a smile. "Just… a lot has happened lately."

Harry nodded. "You played a great match," he offered, grinning in return. "You were right above the Gryffindor section when you caught the Snitch." He paused, his eyes amiss. "Everyone went mad, you know, cheering and all…"

Watching him closely, I found that I was holding my breath.

"But then… then I knew something was wrong," my friend went on, a look of distress on his face. "The way you—you descended so quickly. As… as if you just wanted to be done with it all." He threaded a hand through his tangled hair, breathing a sigh. I didn't know if I wanted him to keep talking. Part of me wanted to stay oblivious to what had occurred during the game. Part of me hoped more than anything for Harry to continue so he would remain by my side, and I wouldn't have to be alone.

"A-And I don't mean the match," he stammered hoarsely. "You landed on the ground and… and you just left your broom there and started running. It was like you… you thought…"

"That if I ran fast enough, I would go back in time, and change my decisions." Probably not was he was going to say, but the words spilled from my mouth before I'd given them much consideration.

Harry gazed at me thoughtfully. "Yeah," he agreed. "And I guess I came here to tell you that… I know how you feel. I—I know what it's like to just… to just want to run and never come back."

I was choking up, unable to swallow the lump forming in my throat.

"You're not on your own, Ginny. Almost every day that thought passes my mind, that… that _voice_ that tells me to get up and leave everything behind. Just the other night I ran all the way down from the common room to the entrance hall and stood in front of the doors, just wondering… 'How long would it take for them to realize that I'm gone?'"

He took my hand as I calmly cried, allowing the tears to fall in silence.

"But then… then I turned around. I turned my back on the easy solution to my problems, because there are people who depend on me." He stopped to reach for my other hand. "People depend on you, too, Ginny. I don't think you realize what an impact you have on… on lives. People's lives. M-my life. Do… do you understand what I'm saying?" inquired Harry shakily, pleadingly.

I nodded. I understood. Not everybody who seems trustworthy is a friend, I had learned, and I had learned the hard way. It was for this reason that I continued to cry.

"Look, Ginny." Harry shifted his chair closer and squeezed my hands. "You don't need Malfoy. You're so much stronger than he thinks. I hate to say this, but you're letting him win by being so upset. I know the wounds are fresh, Gin. But sometimes you just have to force yourself to save face."

I found myself smiling weakly. "Tough love, Harry," I replied, raising my tear-filled eyes to his.

He smiled back. "Exactly, love."

Suddenly, Harry looked away as if he didn't quite believe what had come out of his mouth. "Erm, I mean… you're one of my best mates, Ginny. I—you… you are. Really."

It was cute how flustered he was. I grinned genuinely for the first time in a while. But I suppose part of me was disappointed. Who was I kidding, though. Would Harry Potter ever _love_ me?

He left soon after that, with a hug and a quick kiss on the forehead.

* * *

There are some things in life that simply cannot be learned from books. Tell Hermione Granger that and she would laugh in your face.

Just joking. Sort of.

What I mean is, life isn't something that can just be waltzed through. Things will happen. Things will hurt. Take it from me. Some days it still hurts. At my worst, I still feel angry and used. But when I think about it, those bad days are happening less and less often. Every morning I wake up happier, having forgotten Draco just a little more during the night. Other boys are on my mind now. As to which boys, that will be for me to know. I'm done spilling my secrets onto these pages.

Harry helped me gain a new outlook when he spoke with me in the Hospital Wing. If it wasn't for him, I might still be wallowing in self-pity, giving Draco the satisfaction of thinking that he ruined a Weasley's life.

My life is far from ruined.

It's _him_ that should be concerned. At the rate Draco's going, he's going to be one sad, sad individual when he grows up and sees that he's done more damage to himself than he could ever do to me.

I won't deny my mistakes. Everyone regrets decisions; I am no exception. But my regrets have allowed me to grow into the person I am.

I am stronger, today, than I have ever been before.

I am Ginevra Weasley, going on seventeen, and nothing is going to stop me.

Until next time,

Ginny.


End file.
